


Shoes

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: 7x16, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: Harvey carries Donna's shoes.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32





	1. The Heels

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Nicole's (thedarvey on twitter) amazing edit of Harvey holding Donna's heels, and a conversation with Kelly. Hope you like it :)

Robert just left and they’re officially the last ones there. He’s mildly drunk, mildly sad, mildly numb. The whole day was a whirlwind, between trying to help Jessica, hopping on a plane back to New York in a rush, taking the drive to the countryside hotel for the wedding and arriving right as Mike was about to walk down the aisle. He’s exhausted, emotionally drained and carrying a headache that’s been following him for hours now. Thank God for Donna and her forbearance to get him a room so he wouldn’t need to rush back to Manhattan tonight.

Speaking of her, he looks across the floor to see her talking to the manager, probably discussing arrangements for the leftover food and drinks or whatever. She looks beautiful in that dress, her back exposed in the golden light of the place, her legs modestly covered by the longer skirt. She’s been as _Donna_ as ever tonight, giving him space and time to talk to Mike and make arrangements with Robert when needed, while also staying by his side when he didn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t know for how long they danced, couldn’t name a single song he swirled her to, but the touch of her fingers on his shoulder blade and the light pressure of her cheek against his jaw still burn his skin.

It feels like they’re back on track now, truly over everything that happened with Paula. But it also… doesn’t. The air feels weird around her, charged and distorted, as if everything that’s been happening since he knocked on her door and tore up her resignation letter isn’t really what’s been happening.

She seems to have noticed it too, from the looks she’s given him throughout the night, but he is not sure he understands what exactly it is that they’ve noticed. The conversation they had after the kiss swirls in his mind, her voice ringing in his ears until it makes him dizzy and it’s much too late for those thoughts, he’s had much too much to drink and much too much to give up and he doesn’t want to make any more moves tonight, he just wants to sleep.

As if on cue Donna turns to him, seemingly noticing for the first time that he’s still there, even though he stands out in the middle of the room like a sore thumb. She makes her way to the table, pulling the chair next to his and plopping down onto it with a heavy sigh.

“I thought you’d have gone up already,” she comments, and she sounds tired.

“I wanted to stay in case you needed help,” he replies simply, drinking the last bit of his final dose.

“Thanks, but it’s all sorted out,” she rolls her neck, a slight grimace of discomfort on her face, and he gets the sudden, absurd urge to offer her a massage, which he promptly pushes down.

“How are you getting home? I can call a car,” he checks his watch. It’s way too late and the car service won’t be able to get here for a while, and then it’ll take it another while to take her home. He’s about to go back on his own offer and suggest they try to get her a room here when she speaks.

“Oh, thanks, but I got a room too. I figured I’d probably stay late and didn’t want to have to stress over getting back to the city,” she shrugs one shoulder, looking over the dancefloor as she slumps in her seat a little.

“Oh, right, good idea,” Harvey answers dumbly, his brain apparently too spent to come up with anything better.

They stay in silence for a moment and he’d be lying if he said it isn’t awkward, but he doesn’t feel like the mood requires conversation, wouldn’t even know what to say.

“God, these are killing me,” Donna complains suddenly, voice low and breathy, and when he looks at her he sees her slightly hunched over, one leg crossed over the other, her hands on her foot, circling her ankle. He thinks he hadn’t noticed her heels until now, but they’re silver, strappy, high and incredibly uncomfortable-looking, though no shoe Donna wears has ever looked comfortable to him.

“Take them off,” he suggests almost in spite of himself.

“I would, but I have a personal philosophy that if you can’t handle your heels for the whole night, you shouldn’t wear them,” she explains and he thinks he can hear a tiny smirk on her tone, buried beneath the exhaustion.

“Come on. Everybody left already, I’m the only one here. I promise I won’t tell,” Harvey flashes her a smirk of his own as she throws him a look over her shoulder. She considers his argument for a long moment before looking back down at her heels, muttering ‘Fuck it’ and unstrapping the sandal.

He can see angry red marks on the arches of her feet as she takes her time twisting and turning each foot, digging her thumb into the seemingly soft flesh of her soles to soothe the pain they have spent the last several hours subject to. The desire to give her a massage returns in full force and he once again swallows it.

“Those look torturous,” he says instead, as much for his benefit as hers.

Donna chuckles, “I’ve worn worse.”

“Still, you’re tall, you don’t need heels that high,” Harvey insists, mostly as conversation, though he’s still a bit worried at the way she grimaces here and there as she nurses her feet back to health.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. Every woman learns how to endure some pain or discomfort in the name of looking fabulous,” she jokes and he thinks back to every ridiculously high heel and too tight dress he’s seen her wear.

Another moment is spent in silence, less awkward this time, and Harvey feels his eyelids drooping.

“You’re exhausted,” Donna comments softly, warmly, “I’m done here. If you were just waiting for me, we can go up now.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees right as he stifles a yawn. She smiles affectionately at him, the same way she smiled at him when they were standing by the bar and he asked her out to dance.

“Okay, let me just put these back on and we can go,” she uncrosses her legs and reaches down for the heels.

“Don’t, just go barefoot,” he frowns.

She throws him a look, “I can’t walk barefoot around a hotel, Harvey.”

“Why not? No one will even notice, and you can wash your feet before bed.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’m not a kid anymore,” she insists, though he can hear the remorse in her voice as she contemplates the shoes.

“Donna, what’s ridiculous is you putting those back on when your feet hurt just to save face with the occasional staff from a hotel you’ll never come back to,” he rolls his eyes.

She takes another moment and sighs heavily in defeat. “Fine,” she finally agrees, “I’ll just get my purse from the coatroom.”

She gets up - adorably shorter from the lack of heels - and makes her way to the entrance. He takes his glass to the bar, picks up his jacket and, on an impulse, reaches down for her heels. He then makes his way to the entrance, where Donna has just been handed her belongings.

“Oh, thanks, I’ll take these,” she reaches for her shoes when she spots them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry them.”

“No, it’s okay, I can take them.”

“Donna, you already have your purse and I’ll walk you to your room anyway. Let me take them,” Harvey insists. She seems to survey his face, looking for something he can’t figure out, before she agrees and thanks him. 

* * *

They make their way over to the elevator, Donna making tiny, random throwaway observations about Mike and Rachel or some aspect of the wedding planning, but they’re mostly silent. Her heels are heavy in his hand, the back straps hanging off his index finger. It feels weirdly intimate, carrying her shoes, her barefoot next to him, as they leave together. He wants to thank her for thinking of getting him the room - for even telling him about the wedding in the first place and convincing him to come. He wants to thank her for having his back, for walking down the aisle with him, for sharing the grief he’s feeling at the fact that his best friend (because, yes, Mike really is his best friend) is leaving.

He thinks it’ll make the moment weird, though; it’s already weird enough that they’re standing next to each other in an empty hotel lobby waiting for the elevator doors to open in silence, stealing furtive glances at each other.

On the ride up, he thinks of a lot of things. How old he feels, how dispirited he actually is by the merger, how nice Donna’s hair looks all to the side like this. He thinks of Zane Specter Litt, or Specter Zane Litt (and Litt comes last but he’s already thinking he needs to talk to Louis about how they’re gonna handle Robert), he thinks of Jessica in Chicago, and he thinks he can’t remember ever having carried another woman’s shoes like this. He thinks he would gladly carry hers more often.

All too quickly, without him even noticing it, they’re standing by her door. He’s on a different floor and he’s weirdly dreading the walk over. She doesn’t say ‘Well, this is me’, or ‘Okay, here we are’. She just fishes her key from her purse and unlocks her door, opens it wide and turns to him.

Once again the air shifts between them. She’s looking up at him, the height difference bigger than he’s used to, and she seems small and her eyes are sharp and deep, and they’re not dark exactly, but they’re not as clear as always. He can’t read her, the way her lips are slightly pressed together and her face isn’t giving anything away.

He thinks she wants him to kiss her. He thinks she’ll ask him to come inside. He thinks she’s reaching for his hand and maybe she’ll take it and pull him in or stand on her toes and he thinks maybe all the difference in the air around them will seep into their bodies and they’ll be different, act different, and everything will change.

Instead, she loops her own index under the straps of her heels, her finger brushing lightly against his and sending his pulse through the roof, making his breathing heavier. 

She lifts the shoes off his hand. “Thanks, Harvey,” she says, “Have a good night, try to rest.” And then she flashes him a smile he doesn’t even understand, turns around and disappears inside her room.

He stands uselessly in front of her door, practically stunned, before his feet carry him back towards the elevator. His neck feels stiff and his shoulders feel weirdly light, as if there’s something missing there to ground them, as if he could drift off at any moment. He makes his way to his own room and he thinks he liked it better when he was carrying her heels.


	2. The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternative ending for chapter 1, I got this idea right after I posted it. It picks up right after the line break - you should recognize the first paragraphs but that's intended :)

They make their way over to the elevator, Donna making tiny, random throwaway observations about Mike and Rachel or some aspect of the wedding planning, but they’re mostly silent. Her heels are heavy in his hand, the back straps hanging off his index finger. It feels weirdly intimate, carrying her shoes, her barefoot next to him, as they leave together. He wants to thank her for thinking of getting him the room - for even telling him about the wedding in the first place and convincing him to come. He wants to thank her for having his back, for walking down the aisle with him, for sharing the grief he’s feeling at the fact that his best friend (because, yes, Mike really is his best friend) is leaving.

He thinks it’ll make the moment weird, though; it’s already weird enough that they’re standing next to each other in an empty hotel lobby waiting for the elevator doors to open in silence, stealing furtive glances at each other.

On the ride up, he thinks of a lot of things. How old he feels, how dispirited he actually is by the merger, how nice Donna’s hair looks all to the side like this. He thinks of Zane Specter Litt, or Specter Zane Litt (and Litt comes last but he’s already thinking he needs to talk to Louis about how they’re gonna handle Robert), he thinks of Jessica in Chicago, and he thinks he can’t remember ever having carried another woman’s shoes like this. He thinks he would gladly carry hers more often.

All too quickly, without him even noticing it, they’re standing by her door. He’s on a different floor and he’s weirdly dreading the walk over. She doesn’t say ‘Well, this is me’, or ‘Okay, here we are’. She just fishes her key from her purse and unlocks her door, opens it wide and turns to him.

Once again the air shifts between them. She’s looking up at him, the height difference bigger than he’s used to, and she seems small and her eyes are sharp and deep, and they’re not dark exactly, but they’re not as clear as always. He can’t read her, the way her lips are slightly pressed together and her face isn’t giving anything away.

He thinks she wants him to kiss her. He thinks she’ll ask him to come inside. He thinks she’s reaching for his hand and maybe she’ll take it and pull him in or stand on her toes and he thinks maybe all the difference in the air around them will seep into their bodies and they’ll be different, act different, and everything will change.

He thought all that but it still catches him by surprise when her fingers thread through his, warm and delicate in his tired hand. It still catches him by surprise when she does stand on her toes at the same time as she pulls him in. She kissed him not a month ago and it still catches him by surprise that her lips are soft and pliant and intoxicating as they slide against his bottom one and settle around it. 

He made her promise not to do this again. He is such a fucking _idiot_.

He can barely breathe and his brain is malfunctioning but his body saves him and reacts accordingly, kissing her back, adding pressure and intent. Donna parts her lips slightly and he doesn’t even need to wait for her tongue; he follows her lead, parting his as well, and then she does slip her tongue inside his mouth and he feels completely drunk, his mind spinning as if he’d taken all his whisky doses of the night in one go.

He thought they’d be different, act different, and everything would change but nothing changes, at all. It doesn’t feel different at all and he realizes that maybe different really just meant _right_ all along.

He’s suddenly shaken from his stupor as her tongue slides against his and he wraps an arm around her waist - the arm that’s holding her heels. He feels them bumping against her back but he doesn’t care, just pulls her closer, presses their bodies together to iron out every inch of wrinkles they allowed to form between them these past weeks, or maybe these past years.

She inhales against him, wrapping her other arm around his neck and pulling him down as she lowers back onto her feet. They’re kissing, like they’d only ever kissed on one night before, and their fingers are linked and he’s holding her heels in front of her hotel room and they just married their best friends and he’s merging with Robert Zane and he was on a plane not that many hours ago.

He was exhausted but now he is burning up, the heat of her body and the light of her soul engulfing him, making his blood boil and speed through his veins. 

She makes a tiny noise at the back of her throat and he realizes they’ve completely lost themselves, making out in the middle of the corridor, him hunched over her so completely she’s almost bending over backwards.

He doesn’t care, really. Mike is leaving, he hates public PDA, he might not have a firm come Monday and still, he could strip her naked right here, right now and not pay any of that any mind.

But he is short of breath, though, and so he pulls back a little to pant, notices her swollen lips, the way her hair fell back from her shoulder and is swaying behind her. He notices her whole face, beautiful open and- hopeful?

The fingers that are resting on the back of his head scratch the fine hairs there and she takes a deep breath as they straighten back up. She’s looking at him expectantly and he doesn’t know if he’s even capable of forming a coherent string of words right now, so far gone that he is. But he tightens his hold on her hand, nods, tries to show her that this isn’t them, horny and drunk and sad after all that’s happened. 

He tries to show her - and hopes one day he can tell her - that this is them finding each other after years of searching, this is them not running anymore, this is them taking a deep breath and facing fate. He doesn’t know how or why he suddenly knows all this and he is absolutely sure he cannot properly articulate it. But her hand in his and his lips on hers felt exactly like that.

Her face softens, and he thinks she gets it.

She leans in again, catching his lips more chastely this time, but not any less assuredly. This kiss tastes like a promise, like understanding, like truce. This kiss tastes like Donna and he realizes he’s been thinking of that taste almost every day for a decade.

“I guess you won’t need your room tonight,” she murmurs against his lips, voice low and raspy, before she looks into his eyes, and if her eyes didn’t look dark before, they do now. What little breath he’d managed to retrieve escapes him again as he feels her tugging on his hand, pulling him behind her as she walks inside the hotel room. He follows willingly, if somewhat stunned, her shoes still hanging limply off his finger, and just like that all the exhaustion he’s been carrying for twelve years dissipates.

He stays.


End file.
